Okay, I was a little nervous. The more I thought about it the more I realised that of my revered three (Galloway, Lorrie Moore, Ali Smith) Galloway is the writer who I have respected, admired, and aspired to, for the longest, with an unwavering belief that she really does write the best prose of anyone. She is concise, precise, smart, never sentimental, never baggy or saggy. So, y’know, she rocks. And I honestly get a kick out of recommending her books to others, so that they get to read writing of such quality. It occurred to me that I could meet her and dislike her. It happens right? Your hero up there on a pedestal turns out to be an utter arse. I wondered (because I am the type of person to waste time fretting about things that have not yet happened) if I would still heartily recommend her books. I figured I would, because the writing is what counts, not the person.
Didn’t need to worry at all, she was lovely, and very kind to me. She even gifted me a copy of “Rosengarten” which I am delighted by. She looked amazing, read beautifully, answered questions, and asked a couple herself. She was funny and warm, and the extracts she read from “This is not about me” sounded fabulous. I’m very much looking forward to getting stuck into it.